


so you think you know what love is

by schwifty_rick



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Relationships, Incest, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 06:46:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14806343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schwifty_rick/pseuds/schwifty_rick
Summary: It’s been weeks since Morty first saw the ad. "Lonely? Looking for companionship? Talk to one of our real girls today! Available 24/7, round the clock –"He clicks away.He doesn’t need the kind of companionship that sex offers. Not anymore.





	so you think you know what love is

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for the ever-lovely @the-dimension-where-rickmorty! Thank you so much for the support and providing a brilliant concept, I wouldn't have been able to write this without you. I hope you enjoy, darling. <3

It starts out small. Innocent. There aren’t any hidden motives or secret plans. Just a lonely teenage boy looking for companionship. It begins three months after Grandpa Rick gets captured from the Federation. Without him around, without the adventures, it’s easy to slip back into what normalcy seems like.

It’s easy to forget.

That’s what he tells himself at least.

For a long time, Morty thought he was above everyone else in Rick’s eyes. Thought that sure, Rick would leave his mother and Summer behind, but no matter what Rick would always take him wherever he went. They were a package deal, supposedly.

So when Rick lets himself get captured, and doesn’t take Morty with him, it hurts. It hurts in the same way as when Morty found out that Santa isn’t real, or as when he realized his parents don’t really love each other as much as they pretend to.

And sure, Morty spends a great deal of time being upset that Rick’s gone. Missing the way the corner of Rick’s eyes would crinkle when he had an idea, or how Rick would proudly talk about him to their mother behind closed doors. Because as shitty as Rick is, there’s good buried in him. There’s probably a little bit of good in everyone, but once Rick leaves Morty realizes that not everyone is worth trying to save.

He's better off trying to forget the memories they shared than ever hope to make more.

Summer spends her nights going out with friends and coming back drunk at three in the morning stinking like the hard liquor you drink when you’re not trying to have a good time. Morty hears her fall asleep crying some nights. He refuses to cry over _him._

When he first sees the ad online, he ignores it. They say ad tracking these days gets out of hand. Like if you’re browsing for toilet seat covers one day that’s all you’ll see for weeks on end. Morty isn’t browsing for anything material. He needs something less superficial. Something to numb his mind, something that isn’t alcohol because he refuses to go there.

It’s been weeks since he first saw the ad. _Lonely? Looking for companionship? Talk to one of our real girls today! Available 24/7, round the clock –_

He clicks away.

He doesn’t need the kind of companionship that sex offers. Not anymore.

Morty remembers the way Rick’s skin shifts over his bony spine when he’d bend down to pick up his shirt. Or the way he’d shove his fingers deep down Morty’s throat to shut him up as his cock settled deep between his cheeks, thick fluid pumping out. The latter being a memory that he doesn’t allow himself to think about often.

Still, he feels like he needs a place to vent. Somewhere that isn’t tied down to Grandpa Rick, the family, or anyone who knows him. Somewhere where he can post his thoughts freely without some therapist trying to dissect his feelings to produce the realization that he shouldn’t want to fuck his grandfather to begin with. He knows.

He doesn’t want to reflect. He just wants to purge. He’s lonely. How does someone go from exploring the multiverse with the smartest man alive to regularly attending Algebra class with Mr. Goldenfold?

Naturally, he makes a blog.

It’s set to private at first, and he finds himself writing pages upon pages of thoughts. Feelings about his adventures. About death, murder, espionage…feelings that a fourteen-year-old shouldn’t have. He writes about his confusing thoughts towards Rick. The platonic ones and the sexual ones. About his rapidly changing moral code, how he can rationalize saving one life over sacrificing another, depending on the time of day and what the mission is. He thinks about all the lives they’ve sacrificed. The names they don’t remember, and the faces that are just as vague. He thinks about all the lives they’ve ruined.

That’s when his true feelings for Rick come forward. Burrowed underneath the desire to smash their faces together after each mission is the angry, vile resentment that builds. He doesn’t want to feel this way towards Rick. Doesn’t want to get off to the sound of his grandpa fucking some alien in the next room. He thinks about strangling him but realizes the poor bastard would probably like that shit.

He thinks about the day Rick returns – if it ever happens. He thinks about The Citadel, of all the Ricks and Mortys who’ve traveled from dimension to dimension. Destroying universes, skipping out on the consequences. Rick always thinks he can skip the consequences. It’s why he doesn’t learn.

Summer likes to think that Morty’s given up on their grandfather. Maybe he has, maybe he hasn’t. He’s not sure yet. But he is sure that he doesn’t want Summer to have to deal with that moral quandary. If there’s even a slim chance for normalcy, he wants her to have it. He wants to let her hurt for now, for her to move on and lead a healthy life in the future. Because there’s no healthy with Rick. Even more so, there’s no future with Rick. It just doesn’t work.

After a few months he makes the blog public. Not so anyone can read it, he tells himself. Just because he doesn’t see a reason why it _should_ be private to begin with. Before he does he goes through all the posts about Rick that might be incriminating. Like the ones where he imagines himself bending Rick over and plowing into him from behind. Nothing changes.

It’s not long after that before Rick does come back.

Morty can’t quite describe the feelings that course through him at first glance. He finds himself unable to breathe, but not in the, “ _oh I’m so relieved!”_ type of way. Maybe part of him hoped Rick wouldn’t return, so he wouldn’t have to face the most disgusting parts of himself that he’s been squashing down for almost a year. The way his stomach churns unpleasantly is a warning for the toxicity that follows Rick around like the way a bug is drawn to the light. Even though the light zaps it as soon as it gets too close, the other bugs keep following it despite[sr1]  the impending doom that follows. Morty isn’t sure if he’s the bug, or the light, but he knows there’s a metaphor in there somewhere.

When Morty watches Rick hold Summer hostage during his Galactic Federation Takeover™ (as he’d later call it), talking about how worthless she is right to her face, it ignites a fire inside him that he hasn’t felt since the day Rick left. He’s used to disappointment. Summer, on the other hand, deserves better. Morty doesn’t know where his fierce protection for his sister began, or why he cares so much, but he doesn’t question it. He vaguely remembers thinking that if he had to sacrifice one of them, it would be Rick a hundred times over.

He remembers shooting Rick.

When they get home that day, Rick pulls him aside. He stinks of liquor and something foreign, but the taste of him is less bitter than Morty remembers. It’s a complete whirlwind of a shit show, with Morty’s parents getting a divorce, Rick back in their lives, and Summer happy again. It’s something that Morty knows was all a part of Rick’s plan. He doesn’t want to play by those rules. Because he’s gone for months, and the second he gets back Beth is shaking and crying and running into his arms when just a second ago she was cursing his name. It’s like they’re on some tv show where everyone’s feelings reset each episode. Like their lives aren’t more complicated than that. Like the shit that happened thus far doesn’t matter. Like they could just accept that everything was going to be different and pretend like it wasn’t. Like their feelings don’t matter.

And part of him wants to stop Rick from reaching his hand into his pants, but the way his cock springs to life at the long-missed attention helps him forget why it’s wrong in the first place.

Morty keeps up with his blog after that, but he begins to leave out crucial pieces in shame. It’s not like anyone’s reading it, but somehow Morty’s lost the courage to mention anything intimate about his relationship with Rick even on his own blog.

Despite the trip to Mad Max world, and the visit to Dr. Wong’s office, he knows there isn’t going to be progress. Rick doesn’t like that Dr. Wong challenges him in a way that forces him to confront himself. Doesn’t like when _anyone_ challenges him, really. And as much as Morty doesn’t want any of that therapy bullshit for himself, it’s something he knows Rick needs. Regardless, him and Beth spend the afternoon drinking to forget.

He can’t remember exactly when it first happens. If it was after Vindicators or when they went through that Toxicity Cannister, but it’s somewhere around there. As his mother and sister lead a blissfully ignorant life, Morty watches from a distance. How Rick calculates each move ten steps ahead. How almost all his motives are selfish. How he always has to prove a point.

How he planned this entire goddamn thing.

It builds a resentment in Morty, knowing that his father is laying alone in some cum-stained mattress at the motel three blocks away just so that Rick can feel powerful at the end of the day.

But one night, as Morty’s tucked neatly at his bed, laptop in lap, jerking a quickie off, he gets a notification.

_New comment on post._

His heart races. What? How? His hands slow from around the base of his weeping shaft as he hastily wipes his hand against his sweatpants. He’s been blogging for the better part of the year and no one’s ever –

He clicks the username. _cosmic-infinity._ Doesn’t look familiar. The blog is mostly empty, save for a few short poems that (if he’s being honest), don’t quite make sense to him. He clicks back to the notification and reads the comment.

_Your Grandpa sounds like a fucking asshole. Why do you even hangout with him?_

Morty can feel his tongue growing thick in his mouth; heavy and numb. His fingers struggle to type. Why is he so nervous?

_Yeah, haha. He is. I wonder the same shit myself these days._

He waits patiently for a response, but there isn’t one. He spends the next fifteen minutes staring at the screen, hoping for a little chime as the notification goes off. He falls asleep shortly after.

When Morty wakes up, he has a message.

_Hey man, if you ever want to vent to a real person, I’m here. I’ve seen some shit, I know what it’s like._

This is how it starts.

\---

“Hey, M-Morty, this Minecraft shit is actually _pretty_ neat. Look, see, I-I’ve built the whole Galactic Federation, and look, look! Here’s me destroying it again. Ah, never gets old.”

“Geez, Rick, how long are you gunna jerk yourself off for that accomplishment? How long’s it been now? Six months?”

“Woah ease up, dawg. Grandpa’s just having a little fun, that’s all. So testy lately. W-What, did you get your period or something?”

Morty rolls his eyes. He tries to pretend that the genuine smile plastered across Rick’s doesn’t excite him anymore. It’s funny how natural it seems, for them to lead this horribly indecent lifestyle behind closed doors yet pretend everything is normal out in the open. It’s a bit scary, actually.

“Hey, how’s about we ditch this kalaxian clambake and get ourselves some real fun over at Blips and Chitz? I hear they just finished installing _Roy 3: Back to Basics._ ”

“Pass. I’ve got somewhere to be, actually.”

Rick laughs, gives a knowing smirk. “Somewhere to be? Christ, Morty, didn’t know I-I had to book a damn reservation. Fine, then. Go yank your tugboat for all I care. I’m gunna go win that free month’s supply of portal fluid I’ve been eyeing.”

A green glow opens in the floor and Rick hops through.

Morty wastes no time hurrying up the stairs and settling into his spot neatly. He pulls out his laptop.

_Cosmic, you there?_

He sees the message get read a second later, followed by the three dots.

_I’m here._

Morty smiles. It’s been a few months since he started talking to Cosmic. He’s not quite sure who this person is, or where they’re from, but he likes to picture someone like Jessica behind the screen. It’s nice to picture someone other than Rick. They’re just so thoughtful and understanding. They always know the right thing to say and well, Morty’s been a lot happier ever since he started talking to Cosmic. His public vent posts have lessened. He doesn’t really feel the need to tell anyone else about it anymore. Part of him hopes that if he talks to Cosmic enough, he won’t need the sort of comfort that being in Rick’s arms late at night provides.  

_I’ve been waiting forever for you. Why’d you keep me waiting? ;)_

Morty’s face flushes hot. The nervous kid he is, he can feel his fingers shaking as he types.

He likes talking like this. Where he has time to think and process what to say. Where he doesn’t have to worry about his brain going too fast for his mouth to catch up with. Where he doesn’t sound like a bumbling idiot.

_I’m sorry, I was just with Rick. He’s impossible to get rid of._

_…_

_Him again? Morty, I thought I told you to ditch that asshole. He’s no good for you._

_…_

_I know but I can’t just_ leave _him, Cosmic. Asshole or not, he’s my Grandpa. And who knows what sort of shit he’ll drag Summer into if I let him run rampant. I have to keep him in check._

_…_

_Whatever you say, Morty. How about we talk about something a little more…interesting?_

He’s not sure why, but his dick hardens at the thought. Fuck. He’s got it bad. How can something as bland as words be so flirty and inviting? He’s been trying for weeks to picture their face. He wants to know for sure, but he’s too respectful to push boundaries and ask. It doesn’t stop him from imagining though.

He’s had to buy more tissue boxes this month than he’s needed in years. When his mother asks him what’s wrong, he says he’s been feeling sick lately. Which causes her to pull him close into a hug that smells more like wine and regret than something comforting.

Summer teases him about Cosmic all the time. Anytime he’s texting.

“Tell your _girlfriend_ I said hi, Morty.”

He always shoves her away with a playful punch but can’t help but linger on how the words roll off the tongue so nicely. _His girlfriend._

“Summer, have you ever dated anyone online before?” he asks one day. Ever since Rick left those months ago, his relationship with Summer has grown closer than ever. Seems like yesterday when they were both vying for Rick’s affection, wanting to be his favorite. These days, they know better.

Summer thinks a second. “Mm, well, I think in eighth grade I had a boyfriend on Live Journal or something, but it was more of just a title than anything real. That’s not to say I haven’t like, totally flirted with people online though. I do that shit for breakfast. It’s a great self-esteem boost, really.”

She’s laying on her stomach painting her nails, blowing on them to dry faster. Morty thinks that any guy would be lucky to have his sister. She’s smart, and if he’s being honest, pretty. He thought of telling her that after Ethan dumped her, but he wasn’t sure if that was appropriate or not. Then he remembers that _one_ dream he had last year and knows it’s not appropriate.

“How so?” he asks, leaning back against his hands. They’re on her bed and his legs dangle from how high she has her mattresses piled up.

She smiles at him a bit less than innocently. “Come on, Morty, you’re telling me you don’t get hard from whatever compliment Cosmic gives you? There’s something like, so unique about it because she’s a stranger who has no stake in your life or anything. She’s miles away, living her life surrounded by other people and yet,” Summer gives him a onceover and smirks, “yet she chooses to spend her time with you.”

Morty glances at the ceiling, too embarrassed to look at Summer when the smile creeps its way onto his face. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Of _course_ I’m right. I’m right more often than Grandpa, but don’t you dare tell him I said that. Now get out of my room, I don’t want you jizzing on my new comforter.”

 

\---

 

“Fuck. Yeah, just like – just like that.”

They’re in Rick’s room.

Morty’s sitting in his lap, licking up the base of his neck and trying not to linger on the thought that Rick’s wrinkled skin catches with each teasing flick of the tongue.

Despite his frequent chats with Cosmic, he still finds himself crawling into Rick’s room late at night. He’s not entirely sure why.

He’s naked, but Rick still has his briefs on. The fabric feels nice as he rubs against it, soaking the material. Morty lowers his head has he dry humps Rick, noting the way he leans his back to allow more room. His tongue darts out to consume a pebbled nipple. Rick tastes salty, like he’s been sweating out in the heat all day long and Morty’s skin burns like he’s forgotten to put on sunblock. He feels Rick’s hand cup his bottom before squeezing deliciously, enough to stoke the fire rapidly growing in the pit of Morty’s stomach. There’s a sense of urgency in Rick’s touch, like he’s scared Morty might stop them halfway through. Morty keens into the touch, wishing that any other touch could feel half as good as this, but knowing it can’t. Rick’s briefs are stained with dripping precum, and Morty pushes further into him in an effort to relieve some of the mounting pressure that’s building inside.  

He needs Rick to fuck him.

“When did you get so feisty, _shit_?” Rick asks, exhaling into a long sigh that reeks of whisky. His lids are drooped, eyes unfocused as he takes in Morty’s body for all that it is: hot, naked, and needy. Morty can tell Rick’s not sure where to touch him next because his hands keep scanning for purchase somewhere that feels comfortable, somewhere that’ll make him whine.

“I’m _not,_ ” Morty protests, rolling his hips forward and throwing his head back. He feels Rick reach down to finger his hole, always so fucking tight and hard.

Rick briefly pulls away to bring his fingers up towards his mouth. He coats them in a thick glob of saliva that catches at the corner of his mouth even after he pulls away. He doesn’t break contact with Morty as he delicately circles the hole and eases a careful finger inside.

“Yeah, baby, just like that,” he moans, watching as Morty juts his chest forward. Rick’s other hand brings Morty down for a rough kiss, stubbled cheek grinding nastily against Morty’s chin, but that doesn’t stop his fervor.

Morty mumbles a curse against Rick’s lips that doubles as a plea to go faster. Rick’s set an agonizingly slow pace with the way his fingers curl up and inside just slowly enough to drive him mad.

Morty bites down on Rick’s lower lip in a warning. “N-Now,” he demands, mouth parched.

“Not yet,” Rick commands, voice gravely and final. Morty can barely make out Rick’s figure in the light that peeks between the heavy, draped curtains, but he’s all corners and angles. He’s sharp and uncomfortable everywhere, and Morty’s sure to have bruises in the morning, but when Rick pulls his fingers out and replaces them with the head of his throbbing cock, Morty forgets everything.

“P-Please, _fuck,_ I need it!” Morty begs. His hips shake uncontrollably, searching for something to fill the aching void.

Rick hums lowly, swirling the head of his cock around the slick opening. He pushes forward slowly, and Morty’s slick heat opens despite its protest to welcome the addition. Rick is always thick and heavy, but this time it takes him longer to slide in to the hilt and by the time Morty feels Rick’s balls against his ass his eyes are tearing and he’s palming his own arousal in return.

It seems like ever since Rick’s returned, they’ve stopped taking their time with couplings like this. There’s a sort of desperation that fills the air, like each time will be their last. Seems like it was much easier to pretend like what they were doing was okay before. Seems like lately either of them could snap at any second and it can all crumble down. There is no savoring each moment, there is only hanging on for dear life until it’s over.

Morty’s cock twitches hungrily, wanting a different hand. He’s not to shy to grab Rick’s and place it over him as he leans back, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“Mm, yeah, you like that Morty? You little – you little slut. You like that?” Rick jerks him off expertly, hands swiveling and wrist cracking with each pump. Morty can already feel himself getting close, like the taboo of what they’re doing is enough foreplay alone to satisfy him.

“Oh, _oh._ Yeah, like that. J-Just like…” Morty’s toes curl and he feels Rick’s slick forehead press against his own, eyes scrunched shut in concentration. He’s breathing through clenched teeth, pacing himself, and Morty almost smirks at the thought of his sexperienced grandfather coming undone before him. Morty nibbles his earlobe, then when he can’t concentrate on that task any longer, settles for huffing out staccato breaths against the shell of his ear instead.

“P-Please, Rick!” Morty doesn’t want this to end. He wants this to last long enough to sate him for this time and every time to follow, but he knows it won’t. It never does. Because even as he feels himself building up, straining to reach the finish line and smelling Rick’s shampoo, feeling his blunt fingers digging into his hips, tasting his own sweat that hangs from his upper lip, and hearing the sound of their bodies slapping together a bit too loudly to be inconspicuous, he can already feel himself yearning for next time. Wanting to swallow his dick hole as Rick fucks into his mouth. Wanting him to be so close that he feels it in his bones. In his cells. Wants to feel him on any and every level possible. Wants to bask in his disgusting fucking flaws and that brilliant fucking mind and just consume it all until there’s nothing left of either of them except for –

“ _Fuck.”_

His orgasm hits him like a swift punch to the gut, unexpectedly powerful. It comes in waves that last and last and make his head dizzy and exhausted until he slumps against Rick, boneless. He feels Rick slack off his own lust by pumping a few more thrusts out and freezing, hips staggering and jutting against him until he too goes slack. Morty feels his ass fill with something hot, but he’s too lazy to move himself off Rick to let the fluid dribble out just yet. He feels Rick’s hand reach up to pat his head, but he’s too tired to do anything about it.

Instead, he sleeps.

 

\---

 

When he wakes up a few hours later he’s still in Rick’s room, in his bed, but Rick isn’t. It takes him a second to hear it, but if he focuses he can vaguely hear the shower running down the hall. Glancing down at himself, he notices that he’s been changed into pajamas, and from what he can tell, he’s been cleaned up.

Instinctively, he reaches across the night stand towards his phone and unlocks it, eyes still adjusting to the brightness. He yawns and opens up a message.

_Hey Cosmic, sorry I’m late. I fell asleep. You still up?_

He flops his phone down on the bed next to him and stretches lazily when Rick’s phone buzzes a second later.

Morty freezes. He waits to see if the phone buzzes a second time but it doesn’t. He stares at the desk across the room for a long second before looking back down at his phone again.

“No.”

He quickly sends another message, panicked. It couldn’t be that…His eyes dart back and forth between Rick and his phone as he waits.

_Cosmic, you there?_

Rick’s phone buzzes again.

 _“No._ Fuck. No.”

Morty scrambles for Rick’s phone. The room is spinning around him, and when he finally finds what he’s looking for he can’t even see the screen as he pulls it out because it’s so blurry at first.

_One new message from: Morty Smith._

Morty remembers when he was a kid when he used to wake up from nightmares so terrifying that he’d try to scream but nothing would come out no matter how much he strained.

This is exactly what that feels like.

He feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. He wants to cry but his choked-up throat won’t even allow room for breath let alone the pain that threatens to escape.

He’s never wanted to kill Rick more than in this moment.

As he’s holding Rick’s phone another notification pops up.

_Auto replying in 5…4…3…2…_

Morty’s phone buzzes.

_Hey Morty! I’m here (:_

He feels sick.

He wants to throw up. He wants to punch Rick. He wants to kick him in his gut and watch as the fucking old bastard coughs up whatever organs he has left at this point.

He squeezes the phones so tight that he hears something creak like it’s about to snap. It’s the pain of his skin digging into the corners that snaps him out of it. Because it’s always when Morty thinks he’s found a sliver of happiness outside of Rick that he realizes there is nothing outside of Rick. Rick is selfish, and he’ll continue to take and take until there’s nothing left because he wants everyone around him to be as hollow as he is. He’s not nothing left to lose because there’s nothing left that’s intangible to him, so he thrives off what everyone else can lose.

The door opens moments later, with tears in Morty’s eyes that he’s too embarrassed to admit are there to begin with.

He wants to play a poker face, but his emotions get the best of him.

If someone would’ve asked Morty weeks ago if he thought he’d be crying and punching against Rick’s chest until he had no energy left, he would’ve laughed. He’s supposed to be over this. He’s not supposed to let Rick hurt him anymore. He’s supposed to expect this shit by now. He’s not supposed to feel a wash of chilled betrayal that makes him feel more naked than when they were fucking in bed twenty minutes ago.

What surprises him is that Rick doesn’t make excuses.

He lets Morty sit there and cry against his chest and keep punching even after bruises start to form. He frowns and strokes Morty’s hair and whispers apologies that mean nothing into his ear, but they comfort him nonetheless.

  “Why?” Morty demands more than asks. He has a pounding headache that won’t allow him to focus, and his eyes are sore.

Morty tries his best to ignore the way the towel clings helplessly at Rick’s narrow hips, hanging precariously like it’s about to slip off. Droplets of water still drip off the ends of his hair, but he makes no attempt at moving.

“I thought she could help you, I don’t know.” Rick’s never sounded more exhausted in his life. Like human emotions are the one equation he can’t ever seem to solve. “Back when I first got back you left your laptop open one day, and the nosy fuck that I am, well I fucking saw the shit that you were saying. You can hate me all you want for snooping, I deserve that much. But I made Cosmic because I thought you needed someone to help…separate you from me. This shit,” he motions between them, “isn’t healthy or sustainable. We both know there’s a finish line to this.”

Morty crowds into his fists, no longer punching but now resting against Rick. These are subjects Morty never wants to think about, but knows he has to at some point. These are the subjects that make Morty feel dirty. “Cosmic wasn’t…you?”

Rick shoots him an incredulous look. “What? Me? Jesus, Morty, do you really think I’d waste my time typing like a horny fucking teenage girl for your benefit? No. No. She’s, well, she’s a computer program. She’s designed to fit your specific needs and desires.” He pauses for a second, almost wistful. “She’s great, isn’t she?”

“But the message, the notification on your phone…”

Rick unlocks his phone. “I can view your conversations,” he admits, “but I can’t respond to them. I’m a masochist, and a nosy piece of shit. You’re not the first Morty to shit talk me. I’m used to it. Still, I always like to know.”

He ignores the brief stab of pain at the words ‘ _not the first Morty’_ and squashes it down. He’s never felt smaller.

“It’s not your business. Not your place…You don’t get to decide these things! You don’t get to cause problems and make fake solutions with a few simple fucking calculations, Rick. It’s not that easy. It’s…it’s…”

“I know.” He says, resigned, like he means it. He looks like he’s been waiting for this day for a long time. He’s eerily calm.

Before Rick was in their lives Morty knew exactly who he was as a person. He knew what was right and wrong. Knew that he wasn’t perfect, but shit, he didn’t have to be. When he’s around Rick he feels like the worst type of person, like bugs are crawling beneath the surface just threatening to burst at the seams. Every second he spends with Rick, away from Rick, every second he numbs himself from his deepest desires he’s chipping away at his own rotting soul, and Morty now knows why Rick is only a husk of a man. Because someone who has the entire universe at his fingertips can’t stay whole forever.

It takes Morty a second. Because he’s angry and sad and desperate all at once, and he doesn’t want to admit that he still needs Rick which is probably why it hurts so much to think that Cosmic isn’t real. Who knows, maybe he’ll continue to talk to her and live the lie a bit more.

Pretend a bit more.

Because pretending is better than gripping at the back of Rick’s body, pulling him close when Morty should be pushing away. Pretending is better than Rick pulling back, quietly tucking a stray curl behind his ear, and reaching towards the desk for something familiar. Pretending is better than watching Rick get dressed in silence as Morty stands with feet planted firmly in place, unable to move. It’s better than watching the telltale green portal come to life, with Rick walking through it, unsure if it’s the last time Morty would ever see him.

Morty looks down at his phone and begins to type.

**Author's Note:**

> come sin with me on tumblr! @schwifty-rick


End file.
